“Huh. I see. Okay.” He shrugs and takes off down the row, and I follow. “You know, I can walk you to meet your friend,” he offers, a glint in his eyes as he waits for me at the bottom of the stairs.

I squint up at him. “Jealous?”

He laughs. “No way, babe.”

Babe. The word sizzles around me and I want to burn shit down.

I give him my own nonchalant shrug as I walk past him. “Oh, yeah, you definitely are.”

10

Zack

“Your cat coughed up another fucking hairball,” Reece calls out as he marches out of his bedroom. Dressed only in snug zebra striped boxers with a pair of pink unicorn flip-flips on his feet—where does he buy these things?—he holds up one of his sneakers and shakes it in the air. His eyes land on me. “Right in my goddamn shoe. Do you have any clue how disgusting it is to feel that shit between my toes?”

Eric, who’s sitting on the couch watching The Bachelor, snorts. “Don’t leave your shoes on the floor.”

He shakes his head at Eric. “Where should I keep my shoes? On my bed? On the dresser? You might have a different answer if she puked on your stuff.”

“She likes me.” Eric shrugs, never taking his gaze off the TV as he throws more popcorn in his mouth. “Besides, nobody’s getting rid of Long John Silver. Since she showed up, we’ve had a good run.”

Except for the game where I lost my shit, but I don’t bring that up.

“That’s right, Reece. You can’t mess with a good luck cat. She’s our lucky charm,” I say, holding back a grin as he drops the shoes at my feet and glares. I lean over and pet her, her body currently curled up on the kitchen table while I study. “And she’s not my cat.”

“You named her and she sleeps with you. You, my brother, are a fucking cat owner,” he huffs, throwing his hands up, moody as hell. It doesn’t faze me. Reece is an emotional guy with a temper that flares hot but cools just as fast. I’m the same.

He’s also really into shoes.

“It’s hard to take you seriously with little pink unicorns on your feet,” I say dryly.

He ignores that. “Last week it was my practice jersey. The time before that it was my notebook.” He points a finger at Long John Silver. “The little monster has it out for me.”

As if sensing he’s badmouthing her, her tail flicks around agitatedly and she gives him a scratchy, “Meoooow.”

I look from her to him. “She said, It wasn’t me.”

Eric laughs from his perch in the living room. “Nah, she said, Fuck off, Reece, you’re the pussy here.”

He waves his hands at us. “Fine, fine, laugh all you want, but you just wait until she’s coughing up a loogie in your shoe.”

“At least it wasn’t a dump,” comes from Eric.

Reece glowers, and I give in and stand. “Come on, I’ll fix this. Give me the shoe, you big baby. I’ll throw it in the wash and it will be good as new.”

He sniffs. “I’m not an idiot. I can wash my own shoe, but if you could keep her out of my bedroom…”

I laugh. “Dude, just shut your door. Cats can’t reach the doorknobs. No thumbs.”

“Smartass,” he says. “I’m tired. Just done, I guess.” He rubs his shoulder. “And this shoulder isn’t doing me any favors. Couldn’t sleep a wink last night and all the doc gave me was Aleve.”

I nod. We’re all paranoid about injuries that keep us out of the game and prevent us from racking up stats.

He heads to our small laundry room where I hear him slamming the lid on the washer and starting it. A few minutes later he emerges from the hallway and heads to the fridge to grab a Gatorade.

“Let’s hit the gym tomorrow, and I’ll help you with some stretches.” I slide over the box of Cap’n Crunch I’m working on, and he sticks his hand in, pulls out a handful, and munches.

He plops down in the seat across from me. “Forget me—how are you doing? Didn’t you have another doctor’s appointment this morning?”

I nod. “Sports psychologist. We’re increasing our sessions from twice a week to three. I’ll have to skip my poetry class to make the appointments, but Coach says he can work it out with the professor.”

“No cure yet, huh?”

A cure?

My hands clench under the table. His obliviousness drives me nuts. Reece may look like me and share a similar temperament, but there’s a barrier between us, one that’s been there since he came to Hawthorne. I give him slack because it’s hard living in my shadow. Growing up, I was always the one in the spotlight, and I have to wonder what that does to a brother who craves being the best just as much as I do.

He gives me a raised eyebrow and stuffs cereal in his mouth.

“It doesn’t work like that,” I say.

He stops chewing. “You don’t think you’ll freak out again, right? Isn’t there a pill for it?”

My jaw tightens. He knows nothing, and part of me is annoyed that this is the first conversation he’s had with me about it when Eric has asked a million questions. He and I have different friends, and we don’t spend a lot of our free time together. “I can’t take pills and keep training and playing like I do. Some of those meds have huge side effects that I can’t chance right now. My guy is using different things with me.” Deep breathing, running, visualization.

His voice lowers. “Do you think it’s this time of the year? When Willow died?”

I stare at him, unsmiling. I don’t like talking about her with him.

Because he knows how I fucked up. He was at that party.

And I know he wanted her for himself.

Exhaustion washes over me just thinking about it. “It’s never specifically happened in January before, so it’s probably a combination of things.”

He nods, toying with a piece of cereal in his fingers, deep in thought. “You and Willow…you still wanted to be with her when she died, right? You would have married her someday?”

I frown, wondering what he’s getting at, but I change the topic. “Look, the anxiety thing is real. It comes with being at the top. I was the number one pick last year, and the Predators are waiting on me.”

He exhales, nose flaring as his face grows hard.

I tap a pen on the table, reading him. Part of my success in hockey is my skill in analyzing micro-expressions and body language. Being able to read your opponent and your own teammates is key. You learn patterns of behavior to anticipate what’s coming, but with him, sometimes I don’t know what’s going on in his head.

Things are worse between us, have been on and off since our mom passed away my senior year and then Willow died. You would have thought that kind of grief would have brought us closer, but Reece is a loner, like me, and we internalize shit.

“Reece? You got something to say?” Yeah, I’m calling him on his attitude. I don’t need extra stress right now and if he’s got something to say, he needs to spit it out.

He looks away. “I get what you’re saying. I’m not at your level so I don’t have a clue. I’ll shut up.” He moves to stand, but I grab his elbow and pull him back.

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“But you were thinking it.”

“This isn’t about you, Reece. You’re not the one losing your shit. If Nashville finds out…” My voice trails off and I exhale. I love him, but fuck, he gets so caught up in how he isn’t as good as I am.

His lips compress and color blooms on his face. “Veronica said you were with a girl at the Kappa house and she looked like Willow. I saw her running down the stairs, and you were chasing after her.”

I rear back. Is this what’s got him knotted up? A girl?

“What I do is none of Veronica’s business.” I shake my head. “She’s trouble, brother. Beware.”

I picture the vivacious redhead with her hard green eyes. Veronica only cares about Veronica, and I know that because she’s been after me since Willow died. Last summer she even weaseled her way into a guys’ trip to Mexico, and when I came back to my room one night, she was in my bed stark naked, waiting for me. I sent her away and she’s been with toying with Reece ever since.

Reece frowns. “She’s just worried. Just be sure you aren’t using someone to work through your own shit. Don’t use some random girl to get over Willow.”

I tense up, thinking about Sugar today in her knit cap and cute glasses. Use her? Did I? I frown. I haven’t wrapped my head around what’s going on there yet.

“Did I hear someone mention a Kappa party?” Eric says as he stands, stretches, and breaks wind before heading into the kitchen. “Speaking of…who was the hot blonde at the party? There was some talk amongst some of the girls that she literally ran away from you. Damn, wish I’d seen it.”

Reece’s lips tighten, but I focus on Eric. Dude makes me laugh.

“Does everyone know my every move?” I say.

“Everyone wants a piece of the fame. You’re going to be loaded and playing in the NHL,” Eric says with a grin. He has his own little fandom of girls, so he gets it.

“They want this.” I indicate my upper torso, which is currently encased in a practice shirt from my workout at the gym.

Eric grins. “Ah, the fake bravado—a clear indication you got turned down. Crash and burn, huh?”

I shrug. “Meh. You win some, you lose some.” I’m not one to discuss my sexual exploits.